The Art of Deduction
by Kathryne Buzolic
Summary: During Mrs. Hudson's search for a tenant to take up 221C, Sherlock and John meet a most unexpected young woman who seems to know more than she lets on. After all, it's not like people always react so calmly to Sherlock's deductions. Has he finally met his match, or is it all just another web created by Moriarty? *Eventual* Sherlock/OC.


**After a few weeks of writing, editing, rewriting and hand-wringing, I've finally decided to publish my first ever Sherlock/OC fic!(Not counting the oneshot I posted earlier because this is an actual FIC.)**** Now, I've been watching Sherlock while writing, and I've been reading some superb fics, so hopefully I don't botch up his character too much. Also, though I do my research, I'm American and can get some terms wrong. Always let me know so I don't keep making mistakes! As always, criticism is welcome, and I hope you enjoy this fic!**

**Does it honestly need saying? Well, okay. While I do own my OC and some of her contacts, I do not own any of the characters you recognize, nor anything in relation to Sherlock. All ownership goes to the BBC, and, of course, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I hope they enjoy owning everyone's favorite high-functioning sociopath and our lovely army doctor with a blog.**

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There was frustration brewing in 221B Baker Street. For one of the tenants, at least. John Watson gave his flatmate an exasperated look, sinking into his armchair. Sherlock Holmes paid him no attention, turning a page in his book. John sighed, resting his head on the tips of his fingertips. Sherlock's eyes flicked up momentarily, taking two seconds to examine John before returning to the book in his hands.

"John, it's hardly my fault that woman couldn't take a simple deduction." he said, breaking the somewhat irritated silence. John raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"_Simple deduction?" _he repeated. "Sherlock, you all but called her a prostitute!" he exclaimed. Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning another page.

"Don't be silly, John. Everything about her screamed prostitute. Surely even _you _could see that." he replied.

Whatever John was about to say was cut off by Mrs. Hudson entering their flat. She was obviously a bit put out; for the past three days, she'd been trying to rent out the freshly cleaned—and furnished—basement, but so far, everyone had decided to look elsewhere.

One guess as to why.

"I have one last girl coming in to take a look. It'd be nice if she stayed more than five minutes." she said pointedly, looking at Sherlock as she spoke. The consulting detective was seemingly oblivious to her gaze, but John nodded.

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson. We'll be on our best behavior, won't we, Sherlock?" he asked, drawing Sherlock back into the conversation. The man in question merely shrugged.

"Why give her false expectations? I see no reason why I should entertain hopes that will be obliterated within her first week of residency. First impressions count to some people, but they may as well be true, otherwise your new tenant will move out almost as fast as she moves in, assuming she lasts longer than the previous one. The way I see it, I'm doing you a favor. She might as well see what she could be living under." he said, eyebrows raised, giving him a very innocent sort of look.

Mrs. Hudson and John were spared having to answer, because at that moment, someone knocked on the door downstairs.

"Oh, that must be her!" Mrs. Hudson said, rushing off to answer it. John turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, behave." As the consulting detective opened his mouth, John shook his head. "Deduce her all you like. Just at least let her get her name in first. For Mrs. Hudson." he added. Sherlock sighed, giving his book attention once more.

"Pointless." he muttered, just loud enough for the ex-army doctor to hear.

_Meanwhile, downstairs..._

A young woman—probably mid-twenties—stood outside, tapping a random pattern on her leg. She glanced around a bit, wondering if anyone was home. Just as she was about to knock again, the door was opened by a kind-looking old woman.

"Are you here about the space?" she asked hopefully.

_Hmm..Either no one's been interested or something's been keeping them away. First option is unlikely. Prime placement, easy access to necessities. She gives off a somewhat motherly feel, so it couldn't be her. Must be option two. But why? Could other tenants be to blame?_

The young woman smiled. "I am, yes." she replied in a very Scottish accent. "We spoke on the phone, believe. Mrs. Hudson? I'm Liza."

Mrs. Hudson let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, yes, Liza. Of course. Come in, dear." she said, moving out of the way.

Liza gladly walked inside, shrugging the strap of her bag farther up her shoulder as she glanced around.

"I have to say, I'm surprised no one's gotten this b\place by now. I haven't seen the flat yet, obviously, but with such convenient placement and a lovely landlady like yourself, it seems odd that no one has made you an offer." she said as Mrs. Hudson closed the door and started towards another. The old woman gave her a smile.

"You're too kind, dear. But don't forget, there's a reason for every mystery." she replied as she unlocked the door. Liza raised a brow.

_She doesn't seem too bothered by the fact. Disappointed, perhaps, but not overly upset. Other tenants seem to be to blame. If so, she must be used to it, suggesting a close relationship with whoever it is._

While she thought on it, Mrs. Hudson led the way into 221C. Liza was immediately struck with how homey the little flat was. Mrs. Hudson had added some older furniture, it seemed, and had wallpapered the walls with a nice Victorian pattern. It was light and spacious, probably to distract from the size and lack of windows. Walking through the flat, Liza decided that it was all perfectly suitable. Which again made her wonder why no one had taken it.

"It's all in good shape. No leaking or anything like that." Mrs. Hudson said when Liza finished her rounds through the kitchen, bathroom, and both small bedrooms. "It's a bit small, but..."

"It's lovely." Liza said with a warm smile. "Absolutely wonderful. If you don't have any other offers, I think I might take it."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes lit up. She seemed a bit relieved, honestly. "Oh, really? Wonderful!" she said, giving Liza a warm smile. "But maybe you should meet the other tenants before you sign the papers..."

Liza quirked a brow. "Am I right to assume that it's because of them that there have been no takers?" she asked carefully. Mrs. Hudson gave her a somewhat startled look.

"Well, yes. But the boys aren't so bad, not really." Liza smiled at her reassuringly.

"I'm sure they are. I have a surprisingly high tolerance level, anyway. But if you think I should meet them before we make things official, then lead the way." she told Mrs. Hudson.

The old woman seemed somewhat taken aback, but led her out of the room and up the stairs regardless. Liza followed her, wondering who the 'boys' were, and how they'd managed to keep people from renting the flat below them. Mrs. Hudson stopped at a door and gave Liza an almost nervous smile before opening it.

"Boys," she said as she walked in, Liza close behind, "This is Liza."

Two men were seated in the living room. One was a friendly-looking, shorter fellow, the other a lanky, most likely tall bloke.

_First was in the army. Face indicates a military past—and the cut of his hair suggests he had a crew cut at one point. Doctor, perhaps._

_Second is entirely uninterested. Looks rather bored. Can't tell too much about him. Rather closed off...Hmm..._

Her assessment of the two lasted a few short seconds, and in that time, the presumed military man stood from his chair and held out a hand.

"John Watson." he said with a friendly smile. She shook his hand, returning the smile.

"Liza Lancaster. Pleasure to meet you." she replied.

Her eyes decided to go to the dark-haired man concentrated on his book. She was somewhat curious about him.

"Sherlock Holmes." he said without looking up, taking her by surprise. "Consulting detective."

The title triggered something in her memory, something her uncle had said before...Consulting detective...

"Nice to meet you, then." she murmured, running a hand through her wavy red hair. At the movement, his eyes—an odd bluish-gray color—went up to her, taking her in. It took him mere seconds, then he returned to his book.

Mrs. Hudson and John seemed to be waiting for something. Liza just wasn't sure what.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" she asked John suddenly. He looked startled by the question, glancing at Sherlock before his eyes returned to her inquisitive green ones.

"How did you—?"

"My brother was in the military. I know the look of a man who's been to war." she replied easily. Absolute lie. John seemed to relax at her answer.

"Afghanistan." he answered. She gave him a small nod, about to ask him another question, when a deep voice cut her off.

"You strike me as an only child." The statement caused Liza to turn her attention to Sherlock, who was watching her intently. Raising a brow, she adjusted the strap on her bag.

"Oh, really? What else do I strike you as?" she asked in a challenging tone. John sighed, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him look up at the ceiling briefly. Sherlock arched a single dark brow.

"At first glance, I would have said model. However, you're much too short, and the state of your hands wouldn't do at all. I recommend lotion. London weather isn't kind to eczema. The way you carry yourself indicates confidence. You're very sure of your position in life. High-paying career, I'd imagine. Perhaps a barrister of some sort. You're young, but you obviously aren't worried about living on your own, suggesting you've been doing so for a long time. You're not from London—Scotland, obviously. The capital, most likely. Your mother spends an ungodly amount of her savings on you, to make up for not being around during your childhood, I'd imagine. The necklace you're wearing is a gift from her. Your hands keep going to the pendant, meaning either you're not used to wearing it, or you merely feel obligated to. In this case, I'd say both. You're moving to London to be closer to your work, or perhaps a family member—much too confident to move because of a bad breakup. You're looking for somewhere with easy access to everything, which is why Baker Street was probably your first choice." His words were so quick and efficient, not a trace of doubt in them. She was impressed.

"Not bad." she said after a few moments. "You got a few things wrong, but not bad. You're good."

John and Mrs. Hudson stared at her, while Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Before he could reply, Liza turned to Mrs. Hudson.

"I think I'll take a look at those papers now." she said pleasantly. Mrs. Hudson gave her a surprised smile and bustled out of the flat, most likely to get the papers. Liza gave Sherlock and John a bright smile.

"Have a nice day, gentlemen." she said before following her new landlady out.

"That," John started as she left, "was the best reaction I've ever seen. She didn't even blink."

Sherlock frowned, listening as her footsteps faded. "I know."

_**x**_

An hour later, Liza was in a cab, headed towards the hotel she'd been staying in to collect her things. Her mind wasn't on the task at hand, however. It was on Sherlock's deductions. He'd been right about most of it. For example, the necklace _was _a gift from her mother, and she _did_ feel obligated to wear the damn thing—mostly because of the price. He was far off on her job, though. Extremely far off. She'd love to see his face when he found out exactly what she did for a living.

Smirking to herself, she looked out the window, watching the buildings go by. After a few minutes of silence, her mobile rang deep in her bag. Taking it out and glancing at the ID before answering, she shifted.

"Lancaster." she said in a way of hello.

"Liza, hello!" her uncle Greg said. "I've been trying to reach you for a bit now. Did you get the flat?"

"I'm on my way to get my things now." she confirmed, smiling to herself.

"That's great! You aren't by any chance still interested in that position we talked about, are you?" he asked.

Prior to her arrival in London, Liza had been trying to get her Uncle Lestrade to consider letting her sit in on a case or two to see if police work was something she wanted to consider, instead of her current job. He'd been a bit hesitant, as it was rather unorthodox, but apparently he was letting up.

"You know I am." she said, smile stretching into a grin.

"Well, I think that this case we've been working on might interest you then..."

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**Well, there's chapter one! I honestly can't say when the next one will be up, since my summer will be surprisingly busy, but reviews will encourage me to write faster! I hope Liza seems interesting so far! (By the way, in case it comes up later, Liza _is _short for Elizabeth. She just didn't seem like a Lizzie, Beth, or full on Elizabeth.) As for her job...Well, if you haven't read that oneshot, then you'll probably find it really funny when it's revealed. (It'll be announced the next chapter, just so ya know!) And this is set before The Hounds of Baskerville, just so everyone knows!**

**So...How'd I do? Review and tell me! I'll take whatever you throw at me, but please, no flames. This is my first shot at writing for this show, so cut me a bit of slack and be nice about it, yeah? :)**


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